after the courthouse was leveled down by the rock bombing, the villagers took refuge in the forest of silence on the north side of Serendale. it was closer to the harpies' nests but the harpies would never touch that part of the forest because it was still in the vicinity of stormwing wyvern territory even though the wyverns were already migrating.
As the villagers fled from the courthouse, their homes and their lives destroyed by the harpies' relentless bombing, they sought refuge in the forest of silence on the north side of Serendale. It was a risky move, for the forest was closer to the harpies' nests, but they knew that they had no other choice.
The forest of silence was a place of mystery and wonder, with towering trees and winding paths that seemed to lead nowhere. It was a place of solitude and peace, a sanctuary from the chaos and destruction that had engulfed their village.
As the villagers took refuge in the forest of silence, they couldn't help but feel a sense of unease and uncertainty. The forest was known for its eerie quietness, with not even the sound of animals or birds to break the silence.
But despite the forest's reputation, it was the safest place for the villagers to take refuge. The north side of Serendale was closer to the harpies' nests, but the harpies would never venture into the forest because it was still in the vicinity of the stormwing wyvern territory.
The stormwing wyverns were known for their ferocity and power, and even the harpies knew better than to cross into their territory. Although the wyverns were already migrating, the villagers knew that they were still safer in the forest than they would be anywhere else.
As the villagers settled into their new surroundings, they couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the forest's protection. The trees provided shelter and cover, while the silence of the forest offered a sense of peace and tranquility.
But amidst the calm and quiet, there was a sense of unease. The harpies were still out there, and the wyverns' migration meant that they were vulnerable to attack from other creatures as well.
And so, as the villagers settled into their new surroundings, they remained vigilant and prepared, their minds focused on the task of survival. For in the face of danger and uncertainty, it was their willingness to adapt and persevere that would ultimately guide them through the challenges that lay ahead.
⁕⁕⁕
Aden's footsteps were heavy as he approached the flickering campfire, joining the battered volunteers, Phil, and Gilbert, who sat in solemn silence. Across the way, Ethan and Oliver were hunched over, shoulders shaking with the weight of their grief, mourning the friends they had lost before their very eyes back at the seaport. Tragedy seemed to follow in an unrelenting march, one blow after another.
Old man Jedd lay unconscious nearby, his deep, ragged breaths the only sign of life. His still form was nestled between Gilbert and Aden, a grim reminder of the toll this journey had taken. Phil had strategically arranged three cabin-log campfires in a triangular formation, creating a protective enclosure around the villagers and rescue party.
Hjalmar was already lost to the embrace of sleep, his body utterly spent from the arduous battle with the muscular harpy and the strain of the stone tonic. Kazama leaned against a fallen log not far from Aden, his gaze distant as he rested. Curled beside the samurai was the mute Martin, swaddled in makeshift bandages fashioned from tattered rags. The wounds peeking through the wrappings bore testament to his narrow escape from the harpy's clutches.
At the villagers' campfire, Eugene held Laura close, desperately trying to share what little warmth he could offer on this cold night. "Mommy, I'm hungry," little Jasmine's plaintive voice broke the silence, tugging at Indry's heart. Indry could only hold her daughter tighter, her own hunger pangs a dull ache in the face of their dire circumstances. Agnes, Jasmine's maid, stared blankly into the dancing flames, her eyes hollow and haunted. The villagers had nothing to eat, forced to endure the gnawing emptiness in their bellies as the night wore on.
In the final campfire, the knights had gathered for an emergency war meeting, their hushed voices carrying the weight of the decisions they would soon have to make. A plan was needed, and swiftly, if they were to have any hope of survival.
Aden's gaze swept across the Silent Forest, the specter of the dead wyvern they had discovered lurking in the back of his mind. This place, so close to the harpy nest, seemed to hold untold dangers at every turn. His eyes finally came to rest on Gilbert's weary figure, the nerd acolyte tightening his belt in a futile attempt to stave off the hunger pangs that gripped them all.
"Gilbert," Aden opened up the conversation, his voice cutting through the somber silence that had settled over the makeshift camp.
"Huh?" the young acolyte replied, his attention drawn from the flickering flames he had been absently watching.
"Why did they pick this spot for a retreat?" Aden asked, his brow furrowing as he surveyed their surroundings. This forest seemed barren, devoid of the game or fruit that could sustain the villagers in their time of need. He had heard whispers of the Song Forest on the other side of the village, a verdant haven teeming with resources ripe for foraging.
Gilbert's expression took on a pensive look as he considered Aden's query. "Oh, Ser Percy said that this forest is wyvern's territory. The harpies won't lay a single feather in this area."
"Oh, I see," Aden murmured, his respect for their captain growing as he grasped the rationale behind their chosen refuge.
In the midst of chaos and panic, Captain Willem had managed to keep a level head, making the strategic decision to seek sanctuary in a place where even the harpies would not dare tread. The bombardment had caught them off guard, a tactic none of the defenders had anticipated from their cunning adversaries. It was yet another testament to the intelligence of the harpies, a sobering reminder that they were dealing with foes that possessed a level of cunning that rivaled, if not surpassed, any other wildling beings.
"What is it, Aden?" Gilbert's voice broke through Aden's contemplation, curiosity etched across the young man's features.
"They must've stacked the rocks and boulders somewhere," Aden grumbled, his mind piecing together the puzzle. "That amount of rocks couldn't be found conveniently somewhere; they must have collected them first. They don't just pluck them out of the mountain with their claws."
As the realization dawned upon him, Aden's eyes widened, the pieces falling into place. "The Wailing Widow pass."
Gilbert's expression mirrored Aden's own comprehension. "So that's why the harpies were in the Wailing Widow ridge."
"Yes," Aden affirmed, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and begrudging respect for their foes' strategic acumen. "The harpies must've been stacking the rocks and boulders above the Wailing Widow ridge for the bombardment, where we happened to venture beneath it."
The implication hung heavy in the air, and Aden could see the gears turning in Gilbert's mind as he, too, arrived at the same conclusion. "That's why the harpies engaged us," the young acolyte murmured, his voice laced with a newfound understanding of the gravity of their situation.
"They thought that we were scouts and had discovered their planning," Aden finished grimly.
Gilbert cursed under his breath, the weight of their oversight bearing down upon them both. "If only we knew what they were planning..."
Aden shook his head, his expression resolute. "Yeah, we have to accept this defeat and learn from it. As long as we are still alive, we can always come up with a plan." The words were as much a reassurance to himself as they were to Gilbert, a defiant declaration that their struggle was far from over.